Stayin' Alive

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

Stayin’ Alive

By

The Bee Gees – 1978

By 1978 I’d settled into a routine way of life which was neither exceedingly exciting nor unpleasant. Monday evening was ten pin bowling night, Tuesday usually an evening class with my Mum, Wednesday probably spent at home or going for a drink with Mum or friends and Thursday through to Sunday spent at David’s house. We still played badminton, took Louise and the dogs for walks and days out and sometimes spent evenings at night clubs with friends watching stage stars such as Gene Pitney. These evenings usually resulted in an unplanned hangover; not something that mixes well with a classroom full of children. It wasn’t the most exhilarating of lives, but then looking around at my friends, I saw much blander ones. Most now were bogged down with children and bills; something I still didn’t have an urge to settle with.

Teaching was still the main part of my life; anyone dedicated to this profession will know how much time, planning and obsessive thinking it involves. I never did decide if I’d chosen the right career. Sometimes I believe I’d have been better suited to a quieter, more artistic occupation such as window dressing, but then sometimes I’ll meet a grown up ex-pupil of mine and hear their memories and compliments and feel maybe I did add a little something to the lives of the children I taught.

I liked my school but it was considered wrong to stay employed at the same place for too long. On the strength of this I applied for a job at another school closer to Nottingham and succeeded in getting an interview. My reaction on looking round the school was one of sheer panic; I didn’t like what I saw and wanted to bolt back to the safety net of my own school. I made a hash of the interview and was relieved to escape to familiar security. Dedicated I might have been but certainly not over-ambitious.

After six years of teaching I’d seen a lot of teachers come and go and established good relationships with those who remained stable. Teaching the upper age groups in the school meant learning new skills in order to offer interesting and challenging lessons, particularly in art and crafts which I was very interested in. Two of the older male teachers, Bob and Stan, took me under their wings and taught me how to work with clay, fire a kiln and use woodwork tools, as well as teasing me to death with their unique and very tongue in cheek humour. I thoroughly enjoyed sharing my new found knowledge with the children and they produced some quite amazing and often very individual creations.

Later in the year just before a morning assembly word was passed around that Stan had died of a heart attack the night before whilst marking books. He was 59 and had been slowly winding down in order to enjoy his retirement. It was my first brush with death since losing my grandparents and it hit me hard. A solemn day followed, as staff and children alike attempted to come to terms with the loss of someone who had always been such a lively and necessary part of the school. Bob seemed to lose some of his sparkle after that; almost like one half of a double act had been wiped out.

I enjoyed my annual visit to the Isle of Wight with Mum and Boo and also a holiday in Bridlington with David. I distinctly remember concluding the hotel dining area only possessed one record at the time as we were subjected to Andy William’s songs at every meal. One in particular was to become very significant to me in later years; maybe it was an unheeded omen.

After the holiday I started to worry about my health and although not in pain or feeling particularly unwell, I knew there was something wrong. My own doctor, after ruling out I wasn’t pregnant, concluded I was depressed or just being paranoid and dismissed me with a wave of her hand. Still convinced there was something amiss I visited a local family planning clinic and asked for a smear test. The results confirmed my suspicions and I was sent a letter asking me to see my G.P. as soon as possible.

When I arrived at the surgery I discovered the doctor had my mother’s medical notes in front of her, not mine. She informed me I was far too young to have cervical rogue cells and had assumed it was my Mum who had the problem, not me. Whatever the reason for my condition, she seemed aloof and judgemental and I could only think I’d done something drastically wrong to deserve the arrival of pre-cancer cells. Within days I was in hospital for an operation to remove them and reassured by kind nurses and doctors it was not my fault; I’d just been unlucky. Had the condition been left undiagnosed and untreated I may not have been writing this today.

After a spell in hospital and a short recuperation at home I returned to school and a new class. My mental state was shaky; although it hadn’t been said, the operation left me convinced I’d never be able to have children and maybe that was what I deserved. Suddenly, the very thing I’d been avoiding became of great importance and I realised settling down and having a family was not only the norm, but something I maybe now wanted for myself.

A warm welcome back with cards and flowers on my return to school after a stay in hospital.